


Creaking Floorboards

by MaybeWren



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Touch-Starved, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeWren/pseuds/MaybeWren
Summary: Wilbur can't remember the last time he was really touched. He's fine, he has to be.AKA the author is touch starved and had their first real hug in a while yesterday and is still processing it.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 177





	Creaking Floorboards

Being president again is strange. Wilbur's back to spending most of his time behind a desk after a war. Most of Wilbur’s time is spent tending to paperwork and reviewing what Schlatt signed. He can hear their laughter outside of his office most days, new schemes every other hour. Wilbur can’t help but wish that he could join them. Wilbur reaches for his pen and accidentally bumps his ink pot.

“Fuck,” He mutters and lowers his head. He needs a towel to wipe up the mess and his hands. However, he just stays there. Wilbur can’t do anything right. Thoughts occasionally float by, but he just can’t grab onto any of them. Wilbur’s left with a heavy weight on his chest, unable to do anything. He can’t bring himself to leave the chair. None of it got on his papers, there’s no reason to do anything.

The door to his office opens and Wilbur doesn’t look up. There’s no creaking floorboards to indicate the person’s moved. They’re probably just staring at his misery holding back laughter. He can’t look at their face. The floor creaks as the person starts to walk towards him. A hand likely meant to be comforting is placed on Wilbur’s shoulder and he jolts. 

“Are you okay?” Tubbo asks and Wilbur nods. If he talks the lie won’t be believed. His voice will crack or waver, neither of which are good. He can’t decide if he wants to yank the hand off of him or let it stay there forever. “Tommy wanted you to judge our competition.”

Wilbur shakes his head and takes a quiet breath. “Not right now, Tubbo. I have to clean up this mess and continue paperwork. Why don’t you ask Techno or Quackity?”

“Okay, guess I’ll see you at dinner,” Tubbo slumps and answers before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Wilbur sighs and sits for a few more moments. Eventually he stands and grabs a towel and makes a baking soda paste. He gently spreads it over the stain and goes to dampen his cloth. It’s not the first time he’s made a mess of ink. Wilbur fills a small bowl and makes his way back. He’s not sure how many times he’s spread and wipes. Eventually only a haze is left and that disappears with a bit of rubbing alcohol.

The entire time thoughts swirl through his head. He does his best to ignore their calls. Wilbur sets the rag on the counter and pauses upon catching a glance of his hands. They’re covered in calluses and scars, almost perpetually at least speckled with ink. He’s not sure the last time he really looked at them. He’s not sure when they got so damaged. He’s not sure if they’re even his. They have to be, they’re attached to his body. Is this body even Wilbur’s anymore? It doesn’t feel like it.

There’s a knock on his door and Wilbur looks up. “I said I was busy, Tommy.”

“It’s me,” Phil answers as he opens the door. “Tubbo said you weren’t looking too good, and he’s right. When was the last time you slept or ate.”

“I’m fine,” Wilbur answers. Maybe if he says that enough he’ll believe it. In all his time falling apart on the SMP no one’s picked up on the lie.

“Look at me Wil,” Phil commands.

He doesn’t. Wilbur can’t bring himself to see Phil’s disappointment. He can see Phil moves towards him and flinches. He doesn’t want to be touched, he can’t be touched. When was the last time he was really touched? It was almost certainly before the election. He can’t have a repeat of earlier. 

Phil’s face and voice soften. “Wilbur. Can I touch you?”

Wilbur freezes. “Yes- I mean no. I don’t know. I just don’t know.  _ Dad- _ ”

Phil wraps him in a hug. Wilbur tenses before his legs crumble. Phil manages to catch him and Wilbur starts sobbing. He can’t do it. It’s too much. What was the last piece of real contact he had before this? Tommy hates him, or at least he did. Techno was never one for contact. Who else had he known in Pogtopia and actually saw? Niki and Tubbo had been traumatized by Schlatt. 

Phil mutters reassurances that he can’t listen to. His skin is warm and even though clothes he can feel exactly where Phil’s touching. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling. Should he fight Phil off? Should he melt into it? His brain chooses the latter and can barely hold him up. Wilbur drops his head into Phil’s shoulder. He can feel Phil’s heart thump. 

“Let’s get you home,” Phil mutters before breaking contact. He guides Wilbur out of his office for the first time in who knows how long. He closes his eyes at the sun’s light. He can hear laughter die out and whispers pick up, but Phil just guides him to his house. Wilbur stumbles inside and collapses in the bed. He can deal with the consequences of this later, he’s just tired.

**Author's Note:**

> Please point out any mistakes, I'm tired and have no beta. I should be working on my history homework and Identical Grins. I think my chronic illness, pain, and fatigue are about to flare again.
> 
> [Main Tumblr](https://maybewren.tumblr.com/)  
> [Photography Tumblr](https://maybetherephotos.tumblr.com/)  
> [Poetry Tumblr](https://maybetherewriting.tumblr.com/)


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